


Seven Sleeps

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Apocalypse, Episode Related, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Melancholy, Speculation, episode 161 spoilers, grieving for an outcome that hasn't yet come to pass?, if so it's happening here, is that a thing?, just some sad quiet stuff, preemptive grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 161!!!They will leave the safehouse. Soon.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 24
Kudos: 152





	Seven Sleeps

There is a time, later. How much later is impossible to say.

There is a time. And in that time, Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims face each other across the length of a kitchen counter, quiet and soft after the words that have been exchanged.

Martin breaks the silence first.

"You know what I'm trying to say, Jon. This is- all of this, being here, with  _ you, _ it's- we're so lucky. We're safe. And I know that outside is, is  _ overwhelming  _ for you. But we can't just do nothing. If nothing else, we have to  _ try." _

"But what if there's nothing?" Jon's voice is low, insistent. It rises as he speaks. "What if we try, and there's  _ nothing, _ and we've just given up the one piece of safety we've got left for  _ nothing-" _

"So what?" Martin flings his hands out. "At least we'll have tried! What if there  _ is  _ something and we never know because we don't take that chance?"

"Then we'll still be  _ safe!"  _ Jon slams his hand down on the counter with the word, and winces. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Jon." Martin's voice is rough. He reaches for Jon's hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss against the base of his palm. "Just don't bruise yourself."

"No, I- I'm  _ sorry, _ yelling doesn't help anything, I shouldn't-"

"Jon." Martin kisses his hand again. "It's okay. I- it's nice that you care so much. About our safety."

"It's  _ selfish," _ Jon mutters. "I already ended the world, and I'm clinging to you as though I have any  _ right  _ to kindness or-"

"Don't." Martin pulls on his hand, walking around the counter so he can tug him into an embrace. "Don't talk about yourself that way,  _ please." _

"I'm sorry," Jon says again, and Martin holds him a little tighter.

"I am too," he murmurs. "Because- because me, wanting to leave, that's selfish too. I  _ know  _ you're better off here. I know going outside hurts. And I don't want you to hurt, Jon. But it's hurting me to stay here, and not just because I want to fix this." He pulls away, leaving his hands on Jon's shoulders, looking him in the eye.

"Jon. I've read every book in this place. I've listened to every tape. I've- I've repaired everything that needs repairing, cleaned everything I can clean. Run out of food, which, yeah, we don't need to eat anymore, but it passed the time. I've-  _ we've _ talked so much, but we can't spend eternity  _ just  _ talking to each other. And I can only spend so long sitting in silence." He shakes his head. "This is beyond boredom, Jon. This is  _ underestimation, _ living in a deprived environment, and it's just not healthy. I  _ know  _ outside is too loud, for you, but inside is too quiet for  _ me. _ I can  _ feel  _ myself slipping away. Not to any power, not to Isolation, not to..." he sighs. "Jon, the human mind is not built to withstand this kind of monotony. We need change. We need to do  _ something-" _

"I've seen you die in your dreams, Martin," Jon says, and Martin's mouth snaps shut fast enough his teeth click. "Again and again, and all I can do is watch, and each time hurts just like the first. And I  _ know  _ they're dreams, even as they're happening, and I can't- I just can't. Not- not when it's not a dream. I can't."

"You think I'm going to die." It's not a question.

"I'm scared." It's not an answer.

Martin takes a deep breath, leaning forward, wrapping his arms around Jon and pressing his face into his shoulder.

"You know I haven't had to shave, since all this started?" he says, and Jon blinks in consternation.

"Sorry?"

"I haven't had to shave. Nor've you. And I haven't had to eat. I've _ slept, _ but it's not  _ really  _ sleep, if you know what I mean? Just another place to be afraid. I don't think I...  _ need  _ sleep, anymore. Not in the way I used to." One of his hands runs over Jon's neck, stroking gently up and into his hair before falling down again. "Its not just the clocks that have stopped, Jon."

"What are you saying?" Jon's voice shakes.

"Eli-  _ Jonah  _ wanted immortality."

"People are still dying, Martin. The End-"

"People are still being  _ killed. _ There's a difference."

Jon is silent.

"We could stay here forever, Jon. Literally -  _ forever. _ But do you really want that?"

"Yes." Jon doesn't even hesitate. "Yes, you're all I want, I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I want to  _ have  _ a life with you," Martin replies. "You said it yourself. I don't just want to survive. I want to _ live. _ And this isn't living."

"I don't think there  _ is  _ living anymore, Martin." Jon turns his head, burying his face in Martin's hair and muffling his words. "Not after what I did."

"What  _ Elias  _ did." The words come out on reflex - Martin shakes his head a little before continuing. "Fighting back is living. Trying to fix this is  _ living. _ Staying here and doing  _ nothing, _ dwelling on the past for the rest of  _ eternity  _ until our brains rot and we can't even remember our own names,  _ that's  _ death."

"I know." Jon's voice is so, so quiet. He sighs. "Not sure I'm ready to live again, though. Living...  _ hurts." _

"Jon..." Martin begins.

"It's okay, Martin. You're right. We can't stay here forever. And I  _ will  _ go with you, when you leave, without hesitation, I just- I just need a little more time."

"How long, Jon? Everything's stopped. How long is 'a little more' when time is meaningless?"

Jon swallows. "Seven sleeps."

"What?"

"Just- just seven." He holds Martin a little closer, a little more desperately. "Seven chances for me to hold you in my arms while you drift off, seven times I can wake you with a kiss, seven-" his voice breaks. "...I know it doesn't correspond to, to any  _ meaningful  _ length of time, but..."

"Jon..." Martin presses a clumsy kiss to his shoulder, blinking back tears against the soft material of his shirt. "If you need longer..."

"No." Jon clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is firm. "If it's not seven, it'll be never."

"I don't want to rush you."

"You're not." He steps back half a pace so he can meet Martin's eyes, gives him a sure nod. "It's just- it feels real, I can quantify it, pretend it's a week, pretend-" he pauses, then: "Seven feels right."

"Okay." Martin goes to his toes, kissing him gently. "Okay," he whispers against Jon's lips. "Thank you."

They spend the remainder of their time before Martin sleeps talking, and planning, and preparing, and when Martin drifts off it is with Jon's arms tight around him.

~~~~~

On the second not-quite-a-day, they listen to the tapes. All of them, in chronological order.

On the third, they talk about the past.

On the forth, they talk about the future.

On the fifth, the future as it could have been.

On the sixth, Jon pins Martin to the bed, pressing kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his nose, trailing down across his jaw and collarbone. He runs his fingers through Martin's hair, and cradles his face in his hands, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

Martin holds him like something precious, hands delicate as they ghost across his back, futilely trying to smooth the ever-present tension locked in every muscle.

Neither of them speak of the tears falling down both their faces.

On the seventh, they enact all those plans they made on the first, and start packing.

And then it is time for Martin to sleep once more.

~~~~~

His head fits into its place on the pillow as though it was always meant to be there. However long they have been here has been long enough for him to leave his mark, a permanent depression in the soft cotton cover and polyester filling. His body, too, fits to the bed like it's taken a mold; a slight emptiness left near him marks the space another body should fill.

It draws Jon toward it, urging him to follow the pull of gravity and fall into the soft embrace of Martin's arms, but he holds back against it. He holds back, because if he gets too close, he cannot see.

Martin's eyes are closed, lashes sweeping down to brush his cheeks. His curls are crushed against the pillow, sure to be a tangled mess by morning. Jon will run a comb through them gently, carefully smoothing out each knot, slowly and painlessly returning them to their rightful ordered state.

His lips are bent in a slight frown, a worried angle that Jon knows he cannot smooth away. His eyebrows tug down with it, nose scrunching for a moment with a stray thought. The curve of his cheek is warm and comforting, perfect for fitting into a gentle palm to guide him into a kiss, but still Jon makes no move to shift closer.

Then Martin's eyes flicker open, and Jon's breath catches at the sparkling depth of them. He could look into those eyes forever.

Martin takes a moment to watch him back before speaking. When he does, his voice is a whisper. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Jon barely moves his lips, hardly daring to break this perfect moment.

"Like it's the last chance you'll ever have."

Jon closes his eyes.

"This is the last sleep."

It is quiet for a moment. If Martin is surprised by the finality of Jon's tone, he doesn't show it.

"I'll still be there, when we leave here," he says.

"I know," Jon replies, and "it's just-" and he opens his eyes again, and finally reaches out to fit his palm over Martin's cheek, "-not like this."

"Jon." Martin lifts a hand as well, brushes his fingers lightly across Jon's face, from his temple to his jaw. "We may not be as safe out there, but I'll still be there."

"For how long?" The words are hollow, broken. "Martin, I can't- I can't keep you safe out there."

"I know." And Martin bridges the space between them, kisses him. "I know, Jon." And again. "I wish we had more time."

"We  _ could-" _

"Jon." Martin cuts him off. "If not now, never. You're not the only one that applies to."

"I just-" Jon's hand moves back, curling tightly in Martin's hair.

"We'll be okay." Martin says it so confidently. He slips back, into his space on the old pillow, his shape in the mattress. "I love you."

"I love you too," Jon says, and he has never meant anything as much as he means that. "More than- more than anything."

Martin smiles, a small and hopeful thing. "Wake me with a kiss, won't you?"

"Of course." Jon's voice is rough. "Sweet dreams."

Martin smiles again, and closes his eyes. Jon lets out a long, slow breath, watching him. He pulls his hand from Martin's hair, choosing instead to brush his finger delicately over his cheek, the curve of his lips. He memorizes the sight and the feel of it, this moment of peace.

Then he succumbs to the gravity of a shared bed, allowing himself to slip forward into Martin's arms. There is a smile on the face he can no longer see, he knows this; knows it in the press of lips against his hair and the arm wrapping around his waist, in the slow relaxing of a body slipping into sleep.

Jon holds him, holds onto this moment, and tries to forget about the future.


End file.
